Gonna Make a Heart-Throb Outta Me (Just a Bit of Minor Surgery)
by SarcasmMyAntidrug
Summary: Stiles has to admit, he's a little disappointed to be waking up in the hospital. He'd been doing so well at avoiding it so far. Really, it seems kind of anticlimactic that he can't even feel anything wrong with him besides an all-over ache that's par-for-the-course when running with werewolves and a pounding headache. What is suspicious though, is how much Derek Hale seems to care.


Gonna Make a Heart-Throb Outta Me  
(Just a Bit of Minor Surgery)

Stiles has to admit, he's a little disappointed to be waking up in the hospital. He'd been doing so well at avoiding it so far. Really, it seems kind of anticlimactic that he can't even feel anything wrong with him besides an all-over ache that's par-for-the-course when running with werewolves, and a throbbing pain in his temple. He's just starting to sit up when the door opens, revealing his dad, dressed, for once, in civvies.

"Hey, champ. How you feeling?" the sheriff asks gently, walking over to the far hospital bed. Stiles gets distracted by the feeling of his dad's fingers running through his hair—he must not have noticed how long it'd been getting with all the Alpha pack drama that had been going on—but shakes it off and grins.

"Not bad, I guess. What happened? Is everyone ok?" he asks, practically on reflex. His dad steps back to look him in the eyes, suddenly serious.

"Everyone? Were there others out with you that I should be looking for?" he demands in what Stiles likes to call his 'Sheriff voice'. Stiles squints back at him, suddenly realizing that he can't remember anything past driving into the woods earlier.

"I don't… think so? I can't really remember what happened. Where was I when you brought me in?"

His dad sighs and gets an indecipherable look on his face as he settles down into the chair beside the bed.

"_I _didn't; Derek found you knocked out near the edge of the woods last night. What were you doing out there at that hour, Stiles? You had us all worried sick." He lectures, looking vaguely disappointed, but mostly concerned. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Please, like there was a group of mal-adjusted teenagers hovering over my bedside for a minor head wound." he snorts, but sobers up quickly at his dad's raised eyebrow. "And I don't… really remember. I think I was… looking… for something. I don't know what, sorry." He admits, smiling sheepishly at his dad. The sheriff just sighs and stands up.

"It's okay, kid. I'm gonna head out. You've been passed out for so long that they're going to keep you overnight for observation. It's parent-teacher night at the school, which is why it's just me here, but I think you've got someone else that wants to make sure you're alright before visiting hours are up. I'll let everyone know how you're doing and that you'll be home tomorrow. You just try and get some sleep." He presses a kiss to Stiles head, like he hasn't done in years, and walks to the door. "I love you." He smiles, before heading out.

The door has barely clicked shut when it's thrown open again, and there stands, to Stiles' ever-loving surprise, Derek.

"Hey man, what're you doing here?" he asks "Or, uh. I guess I should thank you. Y'know, for getting me here. So… yeah, thanks."

Derek throws him a funny look before slinking into the chair Stiles' dad had just vacated.

"Of course. I'm just glad you're okay," he admits, which wow. Ok. That was new.

"Uh… yeah man," Stiles chuckles lightly to mask his confusion. "It takes more than a knock on the head to stop me, you know that."

Derek smiles.

Like, holy-shit-he's-actually-happy-what-is-going-on-tha t-his-smile-is-so-happy, smiles. Stiles manages not to gape in shock, but it's a near thing. Derek stands up, even though he'd only been sitting for less than 2 minutes, and stretches.

"True. That sarcastic wit is deadly in close-quarter combat, I know. Anyways, I just needed to make sure you were ok before I took off. The nurses will be coming round to throw me out soon, so I'd better go. I'll see you later, ok?" He says and pats Stiles' knee through the blankets—dare he say it—fondly, lingering for just a moment as if waiting for Stiles to say something. When Stiles remains silent he simply huffs out a laugh (a _laugh_ holy shit) and walks out the door, throwing one last smile over his shoulder as he goes. Stiles stares at the closed door in disbelief for more than a few minutes after him.

"What the actual fuck?"

Stiles' dreams are troubled that night, once he finally falls asleep after eventually brushing off Derek's uncharacteristic behaviour. They're dark and hold an underlying sense of urgency. Nothing new there, really; he hasn't exactly had an abundance of pleasant dreams since he _set someone on fire_ over a year ago. Though, as much as he talks about killing people (namely Derek actually, now that he thinks about it) he's kinda ok with how _not ok_ he is with actually having aided in the murder of another person—a poor example of a person and one who wasn't even dead anymore, but the point stands.

But anyways, his dreams/nightmares are different this time; dark, urgent, but also… painful… and hazy. If his dreams are anything, they're usually clear and consistent. This time it felt like snippets of one dream breaking through another. At one point he thinks he remembers seeing Derek in front of him, strung up and unconscious. But as soon as he wakes up the next morning, it's already started to fade.

He awakes slowly, letting the muted sounds of the hospital pull him into consciousness, but he only opens his eyes when he hears his door open with a _snick_. He smiles at his dad, this time dressed in his uniform and a light jacket. It's been unseasonably cool this fall, and Stiles hopes his own coat isn't too worse-for-wear from however-long he'd been lying in the forest the other night.

"The doc's given you a clean bill of health, so we're all set to go, once you get changed," his dad says, dropping a bag of clothes onto the end of Stiles' bed so he can lean over and ruffle his hair. "I'm sorry your mom couldn't be here for you." He mumbles into his son's temple as he places a kiss there. Stiles jerks back to stare at him in surprise. His dad never- he hadn't-

"I- it's ok, dad. You're here. That- that's more than enough." He states haltingly. His dad pulls back with a smile.

"No need to inflate my ego kid, you'll turn me soft." He jokes. Stiles watches him carefully, looking for a hint of… something. His dad must notice something himself because he frowns slightly in concern "You ok, Stiles? Should I get the doctor in here again?"

"No! No, it's- I'm fine. Really," he assures, sitting up. He isn't hooked up into any machines, and in fact can't even recall if he had been last night either, but counts it as a bonus and grabs for his clothes as he swings his legs off the bed. "I'll just go change and we can go."

Stiles hears his dad mutter a confused 'alright' behind him as he slips into the bathroom, carefully holding the back of his gown closed. There are some things that don't need to be shared between father and son, and backsides are one of them.

He takes a deep breath and starts pulling on his clothes, knowing he can shower at home later. He looks in the mirror once he's done and is surprised by how… ok he looks. The ache from last night is still there throughout his body, more pronounced in his shoulders, but he looks, well, healthy. That shouldn't be as surprising as it is, but he'd been running a little ragged lately with the alpha pack debacle that's been going on for the past few months. Maybe now that it's over, things can finally get back to normal.

He snorts at his reflection and walks out.

Stiles' dad drops him off at home, taking special care to make sure he knows he'll be going back to school the next day, "no exceptions" and that this free day is a gift; a gift of redemption from a guilty parent, whatever that means. As far as Stiles is concerned, his dad doesn't have anything to feel guilty about.

He notices something off as soon as he steps into the house, after the sheriff has driven off to work. It takes a minute for him to recognize the subtle hint of his mom's perfume in the air, and his stomach sinks. Had his hospital visit really upset his dad enough for him to open up his mom's closet? God, he hopes not.

He stumbles up the stairs and flings himself into his room and onto his desk chair. He opens his laptop to check his browser history for some clue as to what he'd been doing out in the middle of the night earlier, since his phone has been less than helpful seeing as it's _dead_. Unfortunately, his recent search history seems limited to the French Revolution he's been reading up on for his history essay, so Stiles hits the shower before making himself something to eat and wastes the rest of the day away playing video games.

He doesn't even realize that he'd completely missed the fact that his jeep isn't in the driveway until the telltale squeak of the brakes as it pulls in wakes him from the nap he fell into sometime during the afternoon. Sitting up in confusion, he's just rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his mom walks in the door.

Stiles freezes as his mom lets her bag drop at her feet and hangs her coat up. It's only when she turns around and her face lights up upon seeing him that Stiles feels the breath he's been holding since the door opened whoosh out of him as if he's been kicked in the solar plexus.

It's happened to him before, and that's exactly what it feels like now.

"Mom?" his voice comes out choked and breathy and any other time he'd hate it, but he can't bring himself to care now because-

"Hi sweetie, how'd you enjoy your day off? I'm sorry I wasn't able to come visit you after you woke up, I had a full night of parent conferences. How are you feeling?" His mom—his _mom,_ who is apparently _alive—_smiles down at him where he's still sitting limply like an _idiot_. He jumps up and vaults himself over the back of the couch to grab her in a hug, terrified that she'll disappear any second.

"_Oof_. Good enough to go to school tomorrow, obviously." She jokes but hugs him back just as tightly. Stiles pulls back enough to look into her eyes but doesn't let her go.

"Mom, what- what're you doing here?" he chokes out.

"I know I'm usually not home for another couple hours, but those papers can be graded a day late for once. I've got a son home from the hospital to spoil." She teases, smiling up at him. Stiles beams at her in wonder, before it sinks in that the last time he hugged her, she could rest her cheek on the top of his head.

"Mom, I'm fine. Really." He assures her, masking the seriousness of the situation behind a smile and light tone. "Nothing but a little memory loss, I promise. Speaking of, why don't you tell me everything that's happened recently? Make sure I haven't forgotten anything important."

His mom gives him a searching look, but sits down with him anyways and they talk. Well, she talks, he listens. It'd been so long since Stiles has heard her voice that he never wants her to _stop _talking. That, of course is impossible, but they aren't interrupted until after it's gone dark outside and Stiles' dad gets home. With burgers no less.

His wife chastises him and they bicker over the merits of nutritional value and exceptions for special occasions and Stiles can't do anything but soak it all in.

"Stiles, son? Everything alright?" his dad asks, finally taking off his jacket and noticing Stiles just standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Yeah, dad. Everything's- hey," Stiles zeroes in on the sheriff's badge—or where the sheriff's badge _should_ be, "You're not sheriff?" he demands. His parents exchange an amused look before his dad turns back to him and his mother goes about setting the table with plates to eat their burgers off of—something Stiles and his dad haven't done for a very long time.

"Your faith in me is noted, son, but becoming Sheriff at my age would take too much overtime to ever be worth it though. Maybe someday, but not for a while yet," he chuckles, patting Stiles' shoulder as he slips by him to hang his coat up in the hallway. Stiles just stands there until he comes back.

"By the way, have you talked to Derek today? He kept checking his phone, looked like he was waiting for word from you," his dad shoots him a look as he re-enters the kitchen and sits down across from his wife, who beckons Stiles to the table.

"What? When did you see-? Were you with Derek _all_ _day_?" he sputters, sliding into his own seat and unwrapping the burger and fries onto his plate.

"Slow day on the streets. Derek and I were both catching up on paperwork for most of it, mentioned you seemed off last night when he checked in on you," his dad replies between bites of his own burger. "So I suppose that means you _haven't_ called him, then?"

"I- no?" Stiles looks to his mom, hoping someone else might be as lost as he is, but she just shakes her head at him and smiles.

"Give the poor boy some peace of mind." She urges, waving a fry at him before popping it in her mouth "He was as worried about you as the rest of us the other night." Stiles gapes at her. And then at his dad, who simply nods and takes a sip from his drink.

"Whu- I- Ok?" he finally manages to squeak out.

"Don't look so confused, Stiles, he's your best friend, of course he was worried about you. He needs you," his mother admonishes. "Now, what do you think we should bring to the Hales' barbeque this weekend? Side dish or dessert?"

Stiles lay on his bed that night, staring at his now fully-charged phone.

On which there are over a dozen unread text messages.

Half of which are from Derek.

_**10/10/2012 10:41  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Feeling better yet princess?_

_**10/10/2012 10:54  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_You know I'm expecting you to tell me why you were out on our property the next time I see you_

_**10/10/2012 10:56  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Which will be soon btw_

_**10/10/2012 11:01  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_But not too soon. I'm a busy guy_

_**10/10/2012 1:33  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Is your phone still dead?_

_**10/10/2012 1:40  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_It is isn't it?_

_**10/10/2012 2:12  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Youre hopeless_

Stiles keets staring. This was… surreal. He almost drops his phone on his face when it vibrates with a new text.

_**11/10/2012 12:01  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Stop trying to come up with a witty response to my texts  
I can hear you thinking all the way across town. You should  
be resting_

_**11/10/2012 12:01  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_And the comedic timing would be way off_

_**11/10/2012 12:02  
**_**TO: Derek  
**_creeper_

He taps out a reply before he's even aware he's doing so and stares in horror at the sent message before a new incoming text fills the screen.

_**11/10/2012 12:03  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_It's not creepy if I'm right_

_**11/10/2012 12:04  
**_**TO: Derek  
**_Pretty sure that is the exact opposite of true_

Stiles lay his phone down on his chest as he awaits a response with a smirk. Sometime before it comes through though, he must have drifted off because the next time he looks at his phone is when the alarm set on it goes off the next morning. And when he did read it, he may have stared a bit. Again. It was becoming a theme.

_**11/10/2012 12:37  
**_**FROM: Derek  
**_Goodnight Stiles. Glad youre feeling better_

Needless to say, he saves it for future evidence towards his alternate reality theory.

Stiles isn't completely sure what's going on, but he's hedging towards an alternate universe. Google wasn't much help—offering nothing at the search of _I'm trapped in an alternate universe_ besides screen-caps of NHL rankings, Star Trek fanfiction and crazy cat-lady rambling. He'd finally gone through the rest of the texts on his phone, and while he and Scott are still epic bros of bro-hood, so too are he and Derek, only at a somewhat… snarkier (_?!_) level. Also, it was possible that they were dating. That was probably the biggest tip-off besides Stiles' mom randomly being alive.

Speaking of which, what _the hell_?! Had he actually wished hard enough for something, and it suddenly just _came true_? Does he have a fairy godmother/godfather/godbeing? Is he going crazy?

"Hey Stiles," Lydia greets as she flounces past him in the hallway before class, "Good luck in the game tonight."

He is definitely going crazy.

"Scott! Tell me I'm not going crazy!" he demands, body-slamming into the locker beside his best friend's.

"Uh… you're not going crazy." Scott doesn't sound—or look—too sure. He'll need a second opinion. And more information.

"Dude, what do you know about Derek and the Hales?" Scott closes his locker deliberately slowly as he squints at his best friend.

"How much Adderall have you had today?" he accuses, slipping his backpack over one shoulder and starting to walk.

"The normal amount! Which- ok, I can see why you might not believe me, but whatever, I just haven't been sleeping all that well lately. Dreams, y'know?" Scott shakes his head, and throws Stiles the confused puppy-dog eyes he knows Stiles can't resist. "It's just, I keep dreaming about Derek. Strung up and dying in some creepy-ass barn and I don't know why. Now don't try to change the subject; this is for _science_, Scott! Tell me everything you can about the Hales!" he flails dramatically. Scott shakes his head as they enter the cafeteria.

"But you already know just as much as I do, dude. More even." He says. Stiles sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"Look, I know. Just… humour me, ok?" he pleads as they get in line for the lunch of the day. Stiles doesn't pick one up and Scott shoots him a look as he pays for his own.

"Ok man. Ok." He appeases, sliding into a table in the corner. "So uh… the Hales. Big family, super rich, have lived in Beacon Hills for generations, all unnaturally, _terrifyingly_ attractive. Mrs. Hale is the mayor, as you know, Mr. Hale a stay-at-home dad slash carpenter slash mechanic slash handyman slash gourmet chef slash who even knows anymore. Popular family; well-liked and respected. Hold a town-barbeque-slash-potluck at their giant mansion up on the preserve a couple times a year. What's your family bringing, by the way? My mom can't decide what to make."

"Mom's secret Mac n' cheese," replies Stiles distractedly, ignoring Scott's sounds of approval. "But what about Derek? More specifically, me and Derek." Scott scrunches up his nose at him, and chews on his chicken strip thoughtfully before answering.

"Uh… you guys met when your mom took you to work with her that time the elementary school had that pipe burst, remember? You were 9, Derek was like… 16, I think. He got stuck babysitting you because he was ahead of the class and your mom thought he was the next Vonnegut or something, I don't know the details. Then you guys were just… friends, I guess. I mean it was kinda weird with the age difference at first, but it's all good now," he shrugs, "I mean, you didn't start dating until after your 18th birthday last year, so it's all legal, which I think is all that was really stopping you from going at it before. And everyone knows he's nuts about you." Ok, definitely dating then. Stiles was… not sure how to feel about that.

"What about," he begins hesitantly "you and Derek? Do you guys… get along?" Scott blinks at him.

"Yeah man, of course, why wouldn't I? He's a cool dude," he replies, causing Stiles to perk up slightly.

"And the others, they're all still friends here too?" he demands. "Erica? Isaac? Boyd?" he clarifies when Scott just looks confused.

"I don't know who Boyd is, but wasn't Erica that epileptic girl? Who transferred schools like… last year?" Scott winces. "I hope she's doing better, wherever she went. People can be such douchebags." Stiles sucks in a sharp breath, lungs suddenly feeling too small.

"And Isaac? Isaac Lahey? What about him?" Scott's confusion twists into sorrow and Stiles knows what's coming even before Scott opens his mouth.

"He died, man. A couple months ago. His dad- don't you remember? Derek's the one who arrested the guy."

Stiles stares blankly at his computer screen later that afternoon. He has a bunch of—mostly crackpot—articles pulled up for every possible explanation he can think of; alternate universes, worm-holes, aliens, hypnosis, brainwashing, faerie rings, mythical creatures, _anything_.

And Isaac Lahey's obituary. It's pretty cut and dry; sticking to facts and clichéd platitudes, obviously written by someone who never met him.

It's one of the most painful things he's ever read. And is what finally motivates him to go see Derek. In person. Not through bantering texts that have Stiles smiling randomly in the middle of class just thinking about them. This shit was serious.

As was his need for a ride.

Damnit.

It's about an hour walk to the preserve and up to the Hale house, and Stiles does _not _appreciate all the time it gives him to think about things. Morally-ambiguous things. And questions. Lots of questions. Basically, he's a mess by the time he makes it to the Hales'. A very cold mess; his jacket is _not _thick enough for those creepy gusts of wind through the motionless trees.

Mr. Hale—or who he assumes is Mr. Hale, based on the fact that he looks like a mix between Derek and Peter—opens the front door and steps outside before Stiles can even make it up the front steps.

"Stiles, what can I do for you?" he asks pleasantly, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

"Um, I was- Actually I was looking for Derek," answers Stiles, leaning against the side railing and barely catching himself when he starts to slide backwards. "Could I talk to him for a sec?" he requests, as nonchalantly as possible.

"He's still at work," Mr. Hale offers, only smirking slightly. "I thought you knew."

"Oh um, work. Right. At the Sheriff's Department. With ma dad," Stiles blusters, waving his hand dismissively "No, I knew that. Totally. Just not used to the big guy having a job I guess- I mean! It slipped my mind! Really! Of course Derek's got a job. He's a… smart guy. And strong. Very strong guy. Intimidating even. Ok, I'm just gonna… yeah." Stiles spins around on his toes before Mr. Hale calling his name spins him right back around again.

"Is everything… alright, Stiles?" he questions, "You know you can always talk to me, especially if Derek's involved."

Stiles opens his mouth to decline, but shuts it just as quickly with a click.

"Actually, Mr. Hale, you might be able to help me out." He beams as he hops up the steps, "Could I take a look at your library?"

Stiles is in the middle of reading a particularly gruesome tale of witchcraft and cannibalism, face screwed in an horrified grimace, when a throat clears behind him. He most certainly does not scream. Not even a little bit.

"Wow Stiles, break my eardrums, why don't you?" Derek winces exaggeratedly, sticking his pinky in his ear and wiggling it around, before dropping his hand and smirking at him. "My dad said you were looking for me? Although why you came here instead of my own apartment is anyone's guess."

"You're apartment? You have a- of course you have an apartment. No one wants to live with their parents forever, am I right?" Stiles coughs awkwardly. It's the first time he's seen Derek in person since the hospital and his imagination was sorely lacking in comparison to the physical sight of the werewolf in all his uniformed glory. "Anyways, um I actually just had a few questions, but your dad let me look in here, so now I don't really have as many as I did and hey, do you think I can take some of these books with me? They've been a _great_ source of information."

Derek nudges him playfully—_playfully_, Jesus he's still not over the fact that this Derek is _happy_—and sits down on the floor beside him, even though there is a very comfortable armchair just an arms-length away.

"Anything you want, Stiles," he says, completely serious. Stiles gulps and starts gathering the books he wants to take home. "But don't you have a lacrosse game in like, an hour?" Derek questions, glancing at his watch.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I guess. It's fine, they can play without me, I won't be missed for one game," Stiles answers distractedly as he tries to shove the last book into his knapsack. It slips in with a satisfying clunk as it hits the ground beneath it.

"What are you talking about? You're first line, of course they'll miss you," Derek pats his knee and stands up, holding a hand out to Stiles. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home to get your stuff and then to the field."

"Wait, first line? Seriously? Since when?" Stiles takes Derek's outstretched hand and pulls himself up, backing away when he's pulled a little too close for comfort.

"What is up with you lately? Since always," Derek raises an eyebrow at him over his shoulder as he leads them outside and around to his car. Stiles stays quiet, and it lasts for almost half the drive before he makes up his mind and turns to Derek.

"Have you noticed anything… odd, recently?" he asks, "Like, around town? Around my dad? Me? Anyone?" Derek glances over at him curiously before turning back to the road.

"Can't say that I have, why?" Stiles ignores the question.

"Really? Nothing seems weird or… unnatural?" Derek just shakes his head, but he presses on. "No new suspicious persons staying in the motel just outside town? No rumours through the grapevine? No freaky scents that make your wolfy nose twitch-AHHH!" Stiles presses himself back against the seat and flails his arms when Derek suddenly swerves almost off the road before pulling over to the shoulder and stops abruptly.

"You know?!" he demands, pinning Stiles with wild and… scared eyes.

"What?! Of course I know! I thought you'd know that I know!" he shrieks. "Why wouldn't I know!?"

"How? How do you know? How did you find out?" Derek asks, visibly trying to stay calm.

"I dunno, I just… figured it out. Like ages ago," he answers truthfully, and watches as Derek's hands loosen ever so slightly from their death grip on the steering wheel.

"How long?"

"2 years? Maybe?" he replies. Derek lets out a shuttered breath.

"And you're… ok? With that? With what—with who—I am?" he asks, voice soft and vulnerable. He's no longer looking at Stiles and it's weird to imagine that here, in this time/space/universe/spell or whatever that they're in; this might possibly be one of the most vulnerable situations Derek has been in.

"Yeah, dude. Definitely," he answers just as softly "You're a good guy. Even when you're sometimes moody and taciturn and creepy. A lot of times creepy. Or even when you're seriously contemplating murdering someone, it's always for the greater good. Mostly," Derek shoots him a confused look and he tries to backpedal.

"I mean, pff, as a cop. Y'know, you probably want to "kill" some of the people you have to arrest. Or let out of jail. Or, y'know, other… cop things. But you don't. You protect people. And that's… that's who you are." Stiles sighs, frustrated with himself. "What I mean is… I trust you dude. That's all I'm trying to say."

Derek is silent on the other side of the car, and Stiles looks out the window, blush high on his cheeks. He feels a light touch on his thigh and he follows where Derek's hand is resting there, up his arm, to his face. His face, which is smiling—open and happy—and Stiles allows himself to get lost in his eyes for a moment.

"I trust you too, Stiles." Derek murmurs fondly, and Stiles snaps back to reality. Or, well, this reality.

"Yeah, _you_ do," he mutters, looking back out the window. Derek makes an inquisitive noise at the back of his throat and Stiles turns back to him with a too-wide smile. "Never mind dude, it's nothing. Let's get to this lacrosse game, huh? Apparently I'm crucial to its success," he jokes. Derek grins and starts the car, pulling back onto the road.

"You're right," Derek agrees sincerely, "They need you out there." Stiles starts to laugh but then chokes on it as everything comes back to him in a rush.

"_A _what_? You mean a genie? Like in Aladdin?" Stiles demands incredulously. Derek turns to glare at him from the driver's seat._

"_It's called a _Djinn_." He snaps, turning to glower at the road "But basically yes. It does grant wishes, but only in people's minds. While it feeds on them. Slowly." Stiles flops back into his seat and lets out a heavy sigh._

"_Man, Disney has a lot of disappointment to make up for," he grumbles. "I mean, if _genies_ are evil, I don't even want to _know_ what fairies are really like." He shudders at the thought and doesn't comment when the corner of Derek's mouth twitches up a bit._

"_Yeah well, hopefully you'll never have to. Let's just find this thing and kill it, before it kidnaps and murders someone else," the werewolf states, back to business._

"_Right, and how are we going to do that again?" Stiles demands. Derek doesn't even glance over as he pops his claws out between them. Stiles rolls his eyes at the dramatics "Of course. Because those worked _so well_ those last few times. Like with Peter, and the Kanima, and that one Alpha…" he trails off intentionally, waiting for Derek to jump in anytime. He doesn't._

"_Ok, then what about the comparatively defenceless human who has no claws or fangs or fists of steel and abs of marble? Huh? What about-"_

"_You," Derek interrupts "are going to stay in the car. But there's a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood in the Tupperware in the back seat in case something goes wrong, so you can protect yourself." Stiles squints at him suspiciously._

"_Why silver, and why lamb's blood?" he asks, slipping out of his seatbelt to reach around to the back and grab the grocery bag he assumed the knife was in and bringing it back up to the front. _

"_That's what the bestiary said would kill it." Derek sighs, not yet fully annoyed, but getting there._

"_And that's why I get it? The person who _isn't_ supposed to be leaving the car?" Stiles asked sarcastically, taking the knife out of the Tupperware and waving the container around, "Also, this is totally from my kitchen. That's why you chose to bring me along, isn't it? You're using me for my kitchenware." Derek huffs out a breath that verges on the very hint of a laugh._

"_Yes Stiles. That's exactly it. It's not because everyone else is either playing lacrosse or unreachable, I need you for your Tupperware." He glances over to stare at Stiles, face deadpan. "You caught me."_

"_Oh ha ha," snipes Stiles "y'know, just once it'd be nice if someone needed me for me," he mumbles, looking out the window._

"_Stiles?" Stiles ignores him and settles in to wait for them to finally get to where they're going._

"Stiles?"

"Derek," Stiles snaps out of the memory with a shake and turns to Derek "Looks like we're not going to that game after all."

"You know how to get to the abandoned paper mill, right?" Stiles asks as he slips back into the Camaro, a bag from the organic food mart he just left swinging in his hands.

"Yes," Derek affirms cautiously and pulls away from the curb. "Stiles, is everything alright? You're not acting like yourself."

"I'm totally fine, Derek," he assures, dipping the silver knife he got from his mom's china cabinet earlier into the container of lambs blood he just bought, careful to keep everything over the bag and avoid bloodstains in the car. "There's just a Djinn I need to take care of."

"A Djinn? Like from the Quran?" Derek asks, throwing him a sideways glance.

"Uh… sure." Stiles shrugs, "I mean, I only know about it because of you. I mean, you…'re family's bestiary. Yeah."

"And you're sure it's at the mill?"

"Definitely. That's where we—I mean, I; that's where_ I_ was snooping around that night you found me unconscious, right?" he asks and continues when Derek nods, "So we get in, kill the thing, save me—I mean, whoever is being held and slowly murdered there—and everything goes back to normal."

The rest of the drive is quiet, until they pull into the old mill and get out. Stiles leads the way, trying to recall the path he took the last time, Derek right behind him with a hand hovering over his back. They're about to push into another room when a sound behind the door stops them. Derek drags Stiles behind some crates just in time, as the Djinn walks out.

Peeking through a crack between the crates, Stiles can see that she looks like a biker chick, really; leather-clad and covered in intricate tattoos. The only difference is the ink running up and down her arms is a bright, glowing, electric blue, to match her eyes. Derek and Stiles follow her movements until she's out of sight, and even then wait until they hear the sounds of a motorcycle driving off the property.

Stiles scurries out from behind the crates and bursts through the doors the Djinn had come out of, ignoring Derek's hissed warnings. The sight that greets him makes him want to throw up in some bushes very far away from here.

There are… husks of people, strung up and dangling from ropes tying them to the ceiling. Some are fresher than others. Stiles recognizes the girl that had gone missing most recently, the one whose disappearance had finally caught Derek's—the other Derek, _his _Derek's—attention.

Stiles goes to untie her, the only one still alive, when suddenly Derek is back by his side and helping him take her down. Stiles' arms almost collapse under the girl's too-light weight as Derek cuts through the ropes, and he knows that somewhere, back in his world, the same thing that this girl has been going through is being done to him as well.

He steps back from where Derek is now supporting the girl against his chest, and stares contemplatively at the knife he pulls from his pocket. What's that saying? If you're about to die in a dream, you'll wake up?

"Stiles?" Derek's voice cuts through his thoughts. Stiles is almost afraid to look at him, but he does. Derek's face is staring back at him with all the pain and fear that was in his voice. "Stiles, what are you doing?"

"This isn't real, Derek. None of this is real. Not my mom being alive or the Hale family, not me on first line, not you. You can barely stand me half the time, but here we're-"

"Stiles, whatever you're thinking about doing, don't," Derek pleads, standing up, the girl in his arms suddenly gone. "I love you."

Stiles' laugh is bitter.

"But you don't, Derek. I just wish you did. Just like I wish my mom had never gotten sick. Just like I wish my dad was happy—_truly_ happy. Just like I wish Kate Argent had never murdered your entire family, and you'd never had to grow up without them. Just like I wish people needed me for something more than my acerbic wit-"

"But we do need you, Stiles," spinning around to face his mom and dad, both suddenly standing there behind him, Stiles almost loses his grip on the knife. "We need you sweetheart, more than you can imagine."

"It's true," Scott is suddenly beside Derek, staring at him with his puppy-dog eyes "Stiles, I know you always joke about how I'd be lost without you, but it's true, man. You're my best friend, and I need you."

"Stiles," Derek whispers, now standing a hairs-breadth away in front of him, "Please, just put the knife down. You could be happy. Here, with me, and your parents, and Scott, and all the friends you could ever want." His eyes are soulful and sincere.

"You're right, I could be happy," admits Stiles, lowering the knife from where he'd raised it against Derek's chest when he'd popped in front of him, causing Derek to smile in triumph. "Just not here," he says and thrusts the knife into his stomach.

For the second time that week, Stiles wakes up in the hospital. This time though, he's pretty sure it's real. And just like last time, his dad is the first one he sees.

"Hey champ, how you holding up?" he asks from where he's sitting at Stiles' bedside.

"Mm… like a wrung out dishrag," he admits, smacking his parched lips until his dad hands him a cup of water. "What happened?"

"We got an anonymous call at the station saying someone had kidnapped a bunch of people and was holding them in the abandoned paper mill outside town. By the time we got there, only one other girl was still alive, and only you were conscious, if barely." Stiles heart sinks, and the sheriff's voice turns hard as he continues.

"Some sick bastard had you and the others strung up and was bleeding you dry. You're severely dehydrated and malnourished, and you needed a blood transfusion, but other than that, you're physically unharmed. We haven't found whoever did this yet, but we will, son. I promise."

"Thanks dad." Stiles' heart feels like it's in a vice, but he ignores it. "I'm fine now though, so you don't have to wait around here if you're busy." The feeling of a hand brushing through his hair makes him realize his eyes have shut.

"I'm never too busy for you, Stiles," is the last thing he hears before he slips back into unconsciousness.

The next time he wakes up, Stiles feels a millions times better, and a million times warmer. He glances to his side to see Scott curled up beside him on the bed, fast asleep. Not wanting to wake him, Stiles looks around the room instead. There's a "Get Well Soon!" Balloon in the corner, along with a couple cards spread sporadically around the room, a small but intricate bouquet of flowers, and a tiny stuffed wolf sitting on his side table that fills him with a pang of sadness.

"Hey," Scott's voice comes softly from his right. "You're up."

"Hey buddy," Stiles grins "Miss me?" Scott turns to face him, serious.

"Yes," he answers seriously. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Stiles admits. "What about everyone else? How're they holding up?" he asks, and the pang in his chest grows a little sharper.

"They're alright. Now that you're stable, at least. The doctors weren't sure you'd make it, dude. You had us all worried." Scott elbows him gently in the side and grins at him, but Stiles' brow draws down in confusion.

"I didn't mean about me, I was talking about-"

The door opening cuts him off, and Stiles feels more than a little justified if he gapes a little.

"Derek?" he squeaks, throat suddenly dry, "You're alive?!"

Both werewolves turn to stare at him. Scott is the one who answers though.

"Yeah dude, why wouldn't he be?"

"My dad!" he exclaims, gesturing wildly, "My dad said only the girl and I survived. And I _know_ you were strung up with us. What happened?"

"You really thought you outlasted an Alpha? Really, Stiles?" Derek's smirk only lasts a second under Stiles' glare.

"I managed to pull myself out of the dream-spell," he starts, coming closer and taking a seat. "I was too weak to move you, and even if I wasn't, there was nothing I could do to help you in your state. So I found where the Djinn had stashed my car and used one of the burner cells I keep in it to call in an anonymous tip. I stayed to make sure she didn't come back, and drove off when I head the sirens approaching a couple miles away. I was already healing, and it wouldn't have looked good if I'd stuck around."

Scott is nodding along as Derek talks, and Stiles is pretty sure he's heard the story already.

"And the Djinn?" he asks, almost afraid to know.

"Scott and I dealt with her." Derek assures him, sharing a look with Scott that goes on a bit longer than Scott looks comfortable with.

"Right, so. I'm gonna go." Scott pushes himself off the bed, careful of all the tubes and wires. "And y'know, let everyone know how you're doing. I'll uh, talk to you later dude. Glad you're feeling better." Derek and Stiles both stare after Scott as he shuts the door behind him before turning to stare at each other. Stiles snorts.

"Subtle," he compliments sarcastically. Derek rolls his eyes.

"About the… dream," Derek starts cautiously, and Stiles nods for him to continue "were you able to… did you-"

"Kill myself and pull out of it? Yeah, dude. No sweat," Stiles waves it off before looking at Derek curiously. "What was your- you know what? Never mind, it's none of my business. Sorr-"

"My family was alive," he whispers, staring at his hands where they're clasped between his knees. "And I'd never met Kate Argent. My English teacher never got sick, so we never got a substitute, and everybody lived. That was my wish. That was mine." Stiles catches Derek's eye when he finally raises his head.

"It wasn't real though," he murmurs. "And you would have died if you'd stayed." He places his hand hesitantly on top of Derek's clenched ones, and keeps it there when Derek doesn't shake it off or flinch away.

"I know," Derek admits, staring at Stiles' hand on his, "but that's not why I came back."

"Why then?" Stiles asks, and his heart stutters when Derek's eyes rise to meet his, with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"The Stiles in my dream never let me borrow his Tupperware."

Stiles isn't even sorry about pushing him off his chair.


End file.
